


Oncoming storm.

by millygal



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:26:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>....my foot!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oncoming storm.

Rose Tyler had seen an awful lot of things.

Galaxies and novas, aliens and monsters, monks in orange robes and a talking trampoline. A myriad of different time periods accompanied by a plethora of questionable fashion phases which were definitely best left forgotten.

Beehives and Winkle pickers were not something she wished to ever try for herself, that was for damn sure.

She'd seen the very beginnings of time and had been privy to, instrumental in, the end of a war that had raged throughout it.

So...yea, she'd seen a lot.

A hell of a lot for someone of her age and species. The phrase 'Stupid ape' sweeping through her head was only a testament to the fact that she had been spending far too much time listening to her alien companion ranting and raving.

She may have witnessed a large amount of things that by all rights shouldn't even have been plausible, let alone possible.

She thought she'd seen it all, and yet.....

"Ohhh look at what the cat dragged in. The oncoming storm!"

The topper, the absolute clincher, the sight to end all sights and the proverbial icing on the metaphorical cake had to be a....

Pissed as a fart!

Stewed as a newt!

Drunk as a slightly maniacal skunk!

900 year old Time Lord stumbling around with a bloody tie on his bloody head rambling about bloody banana daiquiri's.

Bloody hell

Yea, so he could be a little idiotic at times and down right rude for most of it, but she had still felt a bit of the good old fashioned traditional awe that came with travelling alongside a millennia aged alien in a big blue box.

That was up until he'd come fumbling into the control room singing 'I could've danced all night' with those daft sunglasses perched precariously on his nose.

Where in the hell did you get sodding sunglasses from in 18th century France any way?

Not only was he singing, not only was he dancing, but he was completely ignoring the fact that his two companions were manacled to chairs with nasty, glinty, spinning blades shoved in their faces. He wasn't just ignoring it, he was bloody well insulting the sodding things holding them hostage.

"You're Mister thickthickthickettythickthickfacefromthicktown...Thickania....and sooo's ya dad!"

Wonderful

Oncoming storm, my ruddy left foot!

He'd been called a great many things in his time. Half of which Rose couldn't even pronounce, some of which scared the hell out of her, but for the first time in their travels she had come up with a much better, far more appropriate and rather eloquent name for him.

One which she was absolutely-without-a-doubt sure that Mickey would whole heartedly agree on.....

_Fucking twat_


End file.
